


Flame

by Winds of Dawn (WoD)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoD/pseuds/Winds%20of%20Dawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, we all need to be something different.</p><p>Originally posted at 852 Prospect on June 16 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Park After Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/796693) by [Caro Dee (Caro_Dee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/pseuds/Caro%20Dee). 



> First posted at Sentinel Thursday (<http://www.livejournal.com/community/sentinel_thurs/>) for Challenge #41, Games.
> 
> ***
> 
> My memory is a bit hazy on who helped me beta this story -- I know it was the usual crowd from SenBetas, but I'm afraid I didn't keep very good track. I'm sorry I can't thank everyone by name, but I do always appreciate all the help and support I get from my fellow writers and betas at SenBetas -- they are the greatest bunch of people!
> 
> Caro herself did the most to help me work this story out. She's inspired and challenged me, both as an innovative writer and as a dedicated beta, and I feel very lucky and honored to have had the chance to get to know her.
> 
> This story was inspired by and is a companion piece to The Park After Dark by Caro Dee, which can be found at the archive or at her website (<http://carodee.popullus.net/>). I believe either story can be read first, but the reading order could affect your experience of the stories.

The park after dark was a different place -- changed, as he himself was changed. Gone was the bright cheer of daylight, the night air dank with the desperate edginess of men who walked the dark, seeking the elusive thrill of fleeting anonymous couplings. 

Perched on the picnic table, he watched the men pair up, some obviously going for the first available body, others slowly circulating and sizing up each other, taking their time before making their pick. Advance, rebuttal, acceptance -- the rules of social dating clearly applied here, albeit in a twistedly truncated fashion. He grinned. This was a game he knew how to play, and play well. 

Leisurely, he shifted his seat, stretching his legs a bit further along the bench, tilting his body just that subtle bit more. The bangs of his straight, shoulder-length hair swayed as he tilted his head up, tickling his neck, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the grip of the tight-fitting jeans on his legs and the rush of cool air across his exposed belly as the mesh half-tee rippled across his oh-so-smooth skin. 

And bingo! The man closest to him drew near, instinctively responding to his beckoning as a moth to a flame. 

He condescended to give his admirer the barest of a glance, flexing his shoulder so the streetlight caught his arm, throwing into relief the tattoo of the snarling panther surrounded by blood-dripping barbed wire. He aimed an icy stare straight into the eyes just as the other man drew a sharp breath, and smirked with knowing satisfaction as the man backed quickly away. 

Tonight, he was dangerous, a reckless soul perched on the blink of the forbidden. Black hair, brown eyes, smooth skin. Sleek like the panther and as ferocious. Dressed for the prowl, to entice and ensnare. Tonight, he was in the mood for something special -- someone dangerous, more dangerous than himself. One who spent his life always on the edge of danger, always watchful, always vigilant. But tonight, he would come unresisting, dazed by the lure of lust and the heat of mindless rut... 

With a start, he realized another man had dared approach and was leaning over him, practically slobbering. Twisting his lips in disgust, he set to convincing the creature to leave him alone. Look, but don't touch. Watch, but don't play. Dangle the bait, reel in the fish, scoop the live jerking prey in the net -- he could have them, any of them, as many as he wanted, however he wanted. But their game wasn't his game. He was just dropping by, passing through, whiling the time, waiting for the one, the one he'd know, the moment he stepped into sight... 

Ah. Here came another moth. Another annoying insect, to be singed and sent on its way. He'd just have to sit here burning moth after moth, until the one arrived -- and here, among the sordid, hurried, rutting couplings, he'd allow himself to be captured, held down in strong arms, fucked against a tree or convenient table, jeans shoved down his legs just enough to allow him to be a nameless, faceless receptacle for a nameless, faceless cock, giving himself thoroughly to the most debased fantasy -- and so bind the one to him, never to let go. 

Until then, he would sit here -- a dark flame, glittering in the dark, attracting all, waiting for the one.


End file.
